The girl shrugged. It’s relative, she said. Don’t get too excited. But, you’re happy. You’re sober. You look better.
The girl had successfully blown Michelle’s mind. I Just Can’t Imagine How My Life Gets From Here — Michelle gestured to the bookshop, noticing a tweaker in the Theology section trying to shove a hardcover down his pants. Just Take It! Michelle shouted at him. Take It And Get Out Of Here! The man shuffled out the door, startled. She returned her attention to Ashley. I Just Can’t Imagine How My Life Gets From This To That, she said, wiping sudden tears from her face. She couldn’t believe she was going to die before her life got cool.
I’ve found two other girls that I have significant relationships with, Ashley said. One is my girlfriend right now, in this world, and one is who I would fall in love with if I lived to go to college. And you’re. . well, I want you to come with me, too, to the other life where the world doesn’t end. Ashley leaned over the counter and took Michelle by her chin, kissed her.
Michelle pulled back. You’re Thirteen, she said.
I am and I’m not. I’m pretty much as mature as you. You’re an alcoholic and I’m an overachiever. It evens us out.
Can I Keep These? Michelle asked, her hand on the folder. I Just Need To Look At All This.
Ashley nodded. Of course. I brought them for you. She lifted her wrist and looked at her watch. I’ve got a tournament tonight. I know you won’t come, but you should know you’re invited.
What About Your Other Girlfriends? Michelle asked. She tried to imagine the harem of tweenage girls Ashley was keeping in her parents’ muddy, rustic home in Alaska. The slumber party of it. Michelle, pushing thirty, trying to will herself into an alternate dimension each night. She thought about the UFO cult that had recently drunk poison to somehow hop aboard a passing comet. How was this any saner? She imagined the parents that would arrest her as a pedophile the moment she crossed their threshold. Never mind her tweenage love rivals. Won’t Your Girlfriends Hate Me?
Ashley shrugged. They’re pretty cool, she said. They know about you. Our relationship won’t really happen until the future, so it doesn’t interfere with their love. We all just have to be really adult about it.
And If I Don’t Come What Happens?
You die, Ashley said.
I Could Die Anyway, Michelle said. Even If I Came. Your Plan Doesn’t Make A Lot Of Technical Sense. It Sounds Like A Wish.
It’s true, I might not figure it out. It does seem unlikely right now, but it’s definitely the only chance.
Can We Stay In Touch If I Don’t Go? Michelle asked. Can I Email You?
Ashley shook her head, her thin lips disappearing. No, she said. I’ll have to move on.
Michelle opened the folder, rustling through pages of her life. Her trip across the country, leaving her mothers for a life in San Francisco. Her eight years with Lu, what it looked like, the ways it changed her, for better and for worse. Their breakup. In one passage Michelle wails long into the night like a shot animal. She feels stripped of her dignity to have such a private moment known by Ashley — Ashley who seemed so dignified, despite her meager age. She shut the folder, ashamed at how quickly she’d become obsessed with the details of her life.
Sorry, she said. This Is Just — I Write Memoir. It’s Weird To Read My Story Before I’ve Lived It.
Ashley nodded. I’ve got to go. My number is in the folder. She leaned over the counter one more time, and as they kissed Michelle could feel a glimmer of the person she was with Ashley. How good it felt, that version of herself, what a gift it was to feel some dormant part of herself enlivened. Ashley caught a glimpse of her own future self, felt older, tougher, more of a boy than the girl she was then. They pushed their different selves between them until the door jingled open and Michelle jumped away from the kiss. Ashley smiled. Please call me and I will take you. I know you don’t have any money, it doesn’t matter.
Michelle didn’t bother trying to defend her financial state, the girl knew everything. And if she knew everything, she had to have known that Michelle could never go with her.
21
Michelle enjoyed matching music to writings. Much of the music for sale in the shop was obscure to her, so she took a lot of chances with album covers. She played gospel as she read Dorothy Allison, and with Eileen Myles skipped between opera and Sonic Youth. Peter Plate and the Clash. Charles Bukowski and Tom Waits seemed too obvious. She tried Leonard Cohen instead, but went back to Tom Waits. Dodie Bellamy and Nico. Kevin Killian and Kylie Minogue. What would the sound track be to this folder in front of her, notes for a memoir of a life never lived? She found not an album but a busted cassette of Morrissey’s Viva Hate, slid it into the tape player, and opened the folder. This was where she was when Paul stumbled into the bookshop.
Michelle had not seen her boss in weeks. He’d grown larger, his hair longer, more matted. If she hadn’t known him she’d presume he was another drug addict looking to pawn a Danielle Steel paperback. When he spoke his voice croaked, as if he hadn’t spoken out loud for a very long time. He moved the phlegm around his throat with some coughs and gurgles.
Melissa, he addressed her. Excuse me. I haven’t spoken out loud in a while.
His eyes, Michelle noted, were crusted with sleep, as if he’d been lying facedown in a sandbox. The corners of his mouth looked sticky above his beard.
It’s Michelle, Michelle said. She observed her boss, who leaned on the counter, taking a breath. He was a mess. Do You Need Water Or Anything? Are You Okay?
He brushed away her kindnesses impatiently. I’m fine, I’m fine. He turned his face to the windows, looking out onto the Strip. The world is really deteriorating. Have you noticed?
Michelle shrugged. I Thought It Would Be Worse Actually, she said.
You’re just accustomed to the pace of its unraveling. Go to sleep for a couple weeks and then take a look at it. It’s much, much worse. You can hardly use the freeway now even if you wanted to, there are just busted cars and bodies — dead bodies, Rochelle — all over the road. It is a sight. People are considerably more unhinged, people in the streets. He heaved a breath. I’m going back to bed, ASAP. I just wanted to talk to you about the store.
You’re Having Good Dreams? Michelle asked cautiously. Paul’s appearance suggested that her suspicions that her bosses were using the dreamtime like drugs were correct.
Beatrice and I have synced ourselves up and figured out how to go anywhere we want, not just places we were destined to go on vacation. Truthfully, if the world were to continue, we wouldn’t have traveled very far. I don’t like vacations. Too much work, they’re very stressful. But this dreaming thing is wonderful. We just link up and poof, we’re wherever we want to be. You should try it with someone. You’ve got to really love them though. It’s gotta be the real thing.
Well, I Don’t Have The Real Thing. I Don’t Believe In It.
What, you haven’t met your soul mate on one of those websites? I thought that was working out for everyone.
Michelle tried to think of something tough and cynical to say, but nothing came. She shrugged. Not For Me, I Guess.
You seem sad about it, Paul squinted at her, his face cramped in a wince. Don’t waste your time, you’re almost dead. Listen, I can tell you want to talk about this, so I’m going to get out of here. I don’t want to be weighed down with your problems.